The Seven
by NickeltheRed
Summary: There were seven devilries and seven virtues that played a leading role in everyone's life during Sauron's last stand. (Many characters included in both chapters).
1. The Seven Deadly Sins

**Rights to go Tolkien, Peter Jackson, ect. I own nothing.**

**Please, only constructive criticism is asked for. **

**(I humbly require readers to refrain from arguing or personally lecturing me or anyone else what the Deadly Sins and ****The Virtues**** actually mean—or what character really should represent what trait or element. It's not meant to become a religious or personality debate of any kind. It is my own personal opinion that both ****sin ****a**nd virtue take on many forms and they have their degrees and angles. And that was what I am merely experimenting with here.)

**Thank you!**

* * *

**~ VANITY ~**

Wise were the Elves.

This was no mystery, for it was widely known. Their allies often sought their advice and council to lay their worries to rest.

But with such knowledge and experience in life...sometimes a certain air of haughtiness and criticism followed them. The Elves, in a minor unspoken way, _had_ deserved a higher calling than most in Middle Earth. Many could argue they were designed to grow superior.

Lady Galadriel had always been just, fair, and rather fearless. But in a mere moment, her deepest desires had also gotten the better of her as Frodo stepped towards the Mirror. And she never apologized for it.

In that moment, she tested her limits. Her eyes had glowed a blue-violet, a color of pride and self-importance.

_All shall love me and despair!_

* * *

**~ JEALOUSY ~ **

At first, Boromir hadn't believed what Lord Elrond's meeting was coming to.

Hadn't believed what the world was coming to.

Their fate as they knew it, lied in the hands of a Halfling from the secluded farming hills of the Shire, no less.

What was worse, everyone else who had been trying to establish this Fellowship of Nine Companions invested more of their trust and faith in the Ranger who chose exile over him! He too was an elite Son of Gondor, was he not? His baby brother, father, and their people all alike had praised him for it. How could everyone discard that fact with a blink of an eye?

The ongoing Quest had waned his significance little by little.

And so, that—_thing_—that Halfling, had made Boromir feel something he rarely felt during his entire lavish childhood as the firstborn.

The feeling possessed somewhat of a...sickly green tint to it.

_It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine!_

* * *

**~ Gluttony ~**

Even for a shapeshifter, Annatar the Fair still had been a glorious sight to lay eyes on during the Silmarillion; entrancing eyes that shined like sunlight, his light complexion, beautiful golden hair. Even His charm had rivaled the very grace of the Elves so perfectly, that it had become difficult for them to hide their trust from Him. His passion for new creations was so inspiring, that His trickery all along was hardly suspected. He was truly the fairest.

When the day approached, and everything came into light, Annatar-turned-Sauron knew everyone's loyalty would be strained, including his own.

Aye, He had made several gifts to share, but this was done out of ravenous intentions.

Only He could be the One Lord to rule.

_One to rule them all._

* * *

**~ LUST ~**

Privately and silently, Frodo couldn't deny that he was unable to ignore the pull any longer. He'd been falling into Darkness for a while, and almost a little too willingly. His mind was being torn in several directions while the Ring scraped away at his sense over common things. He'd been wanting to _hold_ It. Its voice had grown overly familiar to his ear. It tempted him with each and every heavy step he took. It continually promised him inner power, authority titles, loyal subjects, thrones and kingdoms to spare.

And the idea of parting with It—destroying It—had become frightening for him in an entirely new way. Frodo wondered, would he throw It away when (or if) he reached Mordor? Could he? A part of him regretted the whole Quest already.

His heart slowly filled with an odd desire he couldn't really name.

_Yes_, Frodo noted to himself during one starless night, laying there, rolling the golden band between his fingertips long after Sam and Sméagol had dozed off. _Frodo, the Lord of the Rings _did sound quite pleasing.

Frodo had closed his eyes, and he saw a red fire behind his lids; he had seen it burning with fury, passion, and longing...

_The Ring is mine._

* * *

**~ WRATH ~ **

Gollum seethed deeply within as his Master and the Fat One said their farewells to the archer-captain. He couldn't believe Sméagol relied on them so much to banish _him_ away! Yes, it was indeed a very good thing he came back, too. Poor Sméagol had been crying. Crying all alone again...shedding tears because Master betrayed them, even after they did _nothing_ but swear on the Precious to make sure the Hobbitses were on a safe path into Mordor.

And they _hated_ betrayal. They _hated_ thievery more!

Master and his blubbering pet would pay for theirs soon.

The Precious would be Gollum's again. Yes, yes, Sméagol would have the Precious again. And they'd break those little Hobbit necks for It!

Blackness began to stir and churn in his stomach once more. Fingers tightening into a fists, Gollum clawed into the dirt.

_They stole it from us!_

* * *

**~ SLOTH ~**

Denethor claimed it was his right to become Steward and the shepherd of Gondor, and yet, he had not been a flexible soul. He was not willing to relieve his responsibilities over to any other heir, but he still hadn't done anything to fend for his people himself.

A part of him realized a blue, sorrowful madness had begun crawling into his mind although he didn't put any effort into trying to mend it. He ignored the concern from those who yet loved him.

There were a number of things he should have done for everyone in need, though his shell of bad habits prevented him from dipping his toes in too deep. He wanted the easiest way out. He wanted the fastest solutions there were.

And when the Dark Armies showed up at the gates, Denethor's ambition had turned to laziness amongst all the terror and death. He called down to the soldiers, telling them to run for cover and abandon their duties. To leave their long-beloved White City to its doom.

Denethor of Gondor had been indeed a greatly known leader—but a poor excuse for one.

_Better burn sooner than late..._

* * *

**~ GREED ~**

Smaug purred contently as he was settled into his warm piles of treasure over again, the noise rumbling inside his throat. The Dragon loved the feel of the metal grazing against his scarlet scales, sanding down their rough edges. They were bit jagged before in the North and were in need of a decent grooming. But not now.

He closed his eyes, stretched out his neck, titled his head sideways, and soaked in the heat of his own fires alit around the nest. If anyone actually witnessed this in person, they would probably say that at the moment, his mannerisms were almost catlike. The gold coins clanked lightly under him. And it was all his, the entire Hall. He was not ready to share anything.

Dragons were solitary creatures by nature; and there were only so many centuries his kind could only crave knowledge alone.

Eventually, a Dragon will want something new to covet.

_I am King under the Mountain!_


	2. The Seven Redeeming Virtues

**~ TOLERANCE ~**

Straight from birth, Gimli had always grown with the usual hard head of the Dwarvin People.

And with that, came the bluntness and the natural stubbornness. Dwarves**—**including the more sensible ones**—**rarely bothered gaining any knowledge outside of the art of mining or goldsmith labor.

Nonetheless, Gimli made himself an exception. The glorious Lady Galadriel had helped him to let go of the resentment he harbored, especially towards the Elves.

Truly without a doubt, each time Légolas was willing to spare one of his arrows to save him from injury, it had amazed Gimli to learn how far patience could carry him, if he'd really let it.

_Then whatever luck you live by...let's hope it lasts the night._

* * *

**~ LOVE ~**

Arwen believed in the power of peace. Her greatest weapon against the spreading doubtfulness had been her love.

And her love ran deep within her, like an eternal watery spring.

She used her love for Rivendell to smooth out the rippling creases of her father's worry during Sauron's last stand.

She offered a more healthy portion of her love to Estel, even when hesitation began to cloud his confidences.

Arwen, even as Queen of Gondor, became best known for the amount of love she held; and she had so much of it to pour out that it had caused those around her to feel somewhat undeserving of it at times.

Her love for the opportunities the future held was what made her stronger. It refused to bend under talk of death and anguish.

Yes, their world occasionally revealed its dark corners. But her love gave her the light to show the way.

_And yet my heart rejoices._

* * *

**~ CHARITY ~**

Lord Elrond possessed the gift of Foresight.

He had once been a witness to many, many things. To the good things and to the dark, wicked things too.

And yes, his visions would plant a seed of added caution within his mind every now and then. Though that hardly stopped him from trying to open up his heart, as well as offer his home to weary strangers who requested shelter and comfort from their travels.

The grand Wheel of Fortune, was overall, kind to him _because_ he was overall kind to others.

He knew the past must lie in the past. There'd certainly be a new dawn in the morning.

_May the stars shine upon your faces!_

* * *

**~ COURAGE ~**

Samwise the Brave was the very definition of perfection—even though Fate knew he would never admit this to himself.

He was an extravagant tree of life, with a soul as green and rich as the earth he tended to. He saw beauty in the littlest things and was full of consideration in each hardship he faced.

Samwise would sacrifice his own happiness if it meant he was able to fix the broken hearts surrounding him. He was so unconditionally pure in then mind even though the Shirefolk were regularly basic simple thinkers.

And for being perfection without ever flaunting it, he really was the bravest of them all.

_There's still good in this world..._

* * *

**~ WISDOM ~**

Gandalf knew many things and many others knew of him.

He was up in his years, grey haired, and his flesh was paler and timeworn from stress...plus, sometimes his muscles would stiffen against his will and he would need assistance when walking, but his clear blue eyes seemed to hold the entire _world_.

His skillful tongue spoke of past ages and all of Middle Earth had to offer the younger and greener minds around him, and yet, he'd _never_ stoop to anyone's ignorance. He did not tolerate an icy attitude or any emotional inflexibility.

The wizard always knew what to say, seemingly with little effort.

He knew how to make his company listen with their hearts as well as their ears.

His insight on these things had granted him the truest power he possessed.

_All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us._

* * *

**~ CREATIVITY ~**

Coming from an olden clan like his, Légolas was naturally graceful in all that he did. And with years of practice he could shoot two, perhaps three arrows at a time if he wanted to.

To him, a fight was merely a fight. Back-step, parry, strike, a kick, a pull of the bow's string, all in a series of swift and measured gestures. He did these things out of a sense of duty. Although to a bystander (rather unfamiliar with the ways of his people) his actions almost looked like a dance. His body held a clear history of good agility, melody, and culture.

_What about side by side with a friend?_

* * *

**~ FREEDOM ~**

The Black hills in the distant grew darker by the day. Cities were falling to corruption. Villages were turning to ash, families to dust.

The Age of Sauron was climbing higher upon their tired backs.

Fairly soon, there would be no Middle Earth to fight for. There would be no more light in the land to salvage. Though Aragorn believed in not in the meaning of surrender.

Within himself, he found one more King to rise against the Shadow.

Even with their biting swords, their spilt blood and their last tears of sorrow, they would be free.

_There is still hope._

* * *

**~ TRUTH ~**

Faramir once had this long-living costum of walking in his elder brother's shadow. Even back when they were young lads, Boromir had been the firstborn, his mentor, his hero, his golden idle.

But...when he met two strange Hobbits out on their perilous Quest, the truth of Boromir's death had finally shook the ground under his feet, and it ripped Faramir from his fantasies of filling Boromir's place in life.

Learning new details of their story that night, Faramir realized he could not bring his father the Ring—for it was up to him to honestly _achieve_ wherein his brother apparently had _failed_.

As Captain, henceforth, Faramir of Gondor used truth as his guiding hand until his last breath.

_I would not snare even an Orc with a falsehood._


End file.
